


it’s but a speck of a world under infinite suns

by chasingjupiter



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, just my soft rambling sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 20:09:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15104021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingjupiter/pseuds/chasingjupiter
Summary: kissing is hard, but yuzuru hanyu can do anything. especially when it comes to shoma.





	it’s but a speck of a world under infinite suns

**Author's Note:**

> title from drifting away by khai dreams  
> sorry this is rambly and weird but i just wanted to write some Soft

The first contact between their lips is awkward.

Their eyes meet, and they both quickly look away, cheeks hot and flushed, but determined to try again. Shoma feels worry flood his senses, and he turns his face away, staring at the warm rays of the lamp on the nightstand.

Yuzuru bites his lip - that had just been against Shoma’s - and he wonders what it would be like to properly kiss Shoma, no nose-brushing, no too-loud breaths, no strands of hair that falls in the way. He knows it’s impossible; no kiss will ever be perfect. He’s read enough manga to know that things don’t work that way.

But that’s okay. That’s perfectly fine. Yuzuru is just going to have to settle for the best kiss possible. One where they can savor the tastes of each other’s lips, lazily explore the expanses of each other’s skin, smile as their hands wander over hips and shoulders.

He’s practiced before. On pillows, and his wrist, and - he’s slightly embarrassed to admit - on fruit. Peaches, and mangoes. That kind of thing. It’s a little weird, and it was a little slimier than expected at first, but he was willing to sacrifice his dignity for a good first kiss.

His practice did not pay off.

It wasn’t Shoma’s fault. It wasn’t either of their faults. They just simply couldn’t seem to get a good angle where their lips met but not their noses, and it was far too awkward for Shoma to persevere through in the first few moments. But that’s okay. Yuzuru is sure that Shoma will be willing to try again.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice coarse and rough in the air permeated with timid glances and hidden grimaces. “Do you want to try again?”

Shoma turns to face him, his cheeks still pink in the golden glow of the lamp. His hair is a mess, all over his forehead and tangled like always. It’s endearing. Yuzuru aches to brush away the stubborn strands, longs to feel his fingers in the lush chaos of curls. Shoma hesitates, wincing as his voice catches in his throat, the sound both jagged and gentle to Yuzuru’s ears.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, the corner of his jaw tinged with red the way it does after a practice session, or a particularly difficult conversation. Yuzuru wonders if this is one of those, if this is an inconvenience to Shoma, and that maybe they shouldn’t have tried to kiss tonight. Maybe tomorrow would have been better. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

No. Yuzuru is glad it’s tonight. Perhaps it’s a little challenging to choke the words out, but he knows that this is just another struggle that comes with a blooming relationship. There are some issues, but he’s just glad he’s with Shoma, sitting quietly on the clean beige carpet of his hotel room, illuminated by a soft beam of dusky yellow. He’s glad that despite the clumsy words and atmosphere, Shoma’s hand slowly inch towards his, and his fingers curl around Yuzuru’s hand. He’s glad that despite the tentative eye contact, they gravitate towards each other, and inevitably, their lips meet once again, and this time, it’s much, much better than before.

 

Yuzuru remembers that night in a dim haze, remembers the texture of the carpet, the feathery touches on his neck and shoulders, the ever-steady brown depths of Shoma’s eyes, framed by curling lashes, the pools speckled with light. Soft and silky and smooth.

He recalls the sweetness of Shoma’s lips, the same honey of the radiant lamp, and how indulgent it felt to let his slim fingers traverse Shoma’s chest, clinging to the thin fabric of his shirt, carelessly drifting up his collar bones. His memory of that night is vague, obscure at best. He can’t remember the details clearly the way every manga protagonist can. Reality and fiction is very different, he’s learned.

But the tender caresses on his back, the trusting look in Shoma’s eyes, the dulcet lilts of his voice, the distinct sunflower-vanilla aroma on his lips and skin are grains of rosy memory, so blissfully _perfect_ that he can hardly believe that this isn’t just a figment of his imagination, dreams at one am, fantasies he keeps hidden in the deepest extents of his mind. Pearls he cannot bear to part from, gems of euphoria that can only be illusions.

It’s better than anything he dared to imagine.


End file.
